


hands of time

by writeiolite



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood Friends, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Reunion, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28415778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeiolite/pseuds/writeiolite
Summary: everyone has a Soulmate Clock. you're no exception. but since yours doesn't move, you always wondered if you don't have a soulmate at all. only time and a reunion will tell
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 51





	hands of time

**Author's Note:**

> for haikyuucreations' secret santa exchange. i hope you like it, daff!
> 
> crossposted on my tumblr, writeiolite
> 
> [ ! ] if you want to use this fic in a reading video (like ASMR or smth), please dm/inbox me on tumblr or comment here and get my permission first

There’s a clock. On the wall, in your head, on the corner of your screen, on the oven, _everywhere_. Number with a colon between them make up this world — there’s no way to go on without some form of math or science to differentiate one thing from another. It’s because of that that you know when something is working or when it’s in need of maintenance.

When all is well, they tick and tock, numbers ascending from 0 to 9 over and over. There are rare times when it’s the opposite — when you think of timed challenges, countdowns, and anticipation. Still, the numbers are there. You know that at the endpoint there’s something great waiting (or grave, but let’s not think of that).

But what about _your_ clock? Or is it a timer? There’s no way of knowing if the numbers on your wrist are meant to be a time you’ll meet them or a timer for how long until you’ve met them. For as long as you can remember, your Soulmate Clock has been frozen.

Broken and in need of maintenance. The numbers etched onto your skin don’t have a blinking colon, nor do they ascend or descend. _Maybe I don’t have a soulmate at all,_ is something you’ve thought frequently, but that couldn’t be right… There’s no way you’d be the only person in the world without one. Your Clock is simply… different. That’s what numbers are for, right? To tell things apart?

You huff a sigh — a familiar gust of heavy questions that almost stings your throat. Another day of staring at your wrist waiting for the numbers to change.

“IF — and I’m emphasizing that because I know you’ll run with it — you didn’t have a soulmate, then I think you’d just… not exist. _Everyone_ has one. We’re born with another half like that. No sense in worrying about it.”

“Easy for you to say,” you grumble, pulling a hoodie over your head as you get out of the car. “You’ve met your soulmate and you’re together all the time. I don’t even know what mine looks like.”

Your friend rolls her eyes. “I bet you’ve already met yours and that’s why your Clock is frozen.”

“Doubtful.”

“Why?”

You close the car door and pull the hood over your head to shield your ears from the biting cold and her biting speculations. “Because there’s supposed to be some sort of _spark_. I would remember that.”

She rolls down the window to call after you. “I’ll come pick you up at 1 o’clock tomorrow! Don’t forget and sleep in.”

“As if I would,” you mutter, waving over your shoulder and unlocking your front door. Everything is a number — does she really think you’d forget? _You_? Of _all_ people?

You huff another sigh when you get inside, toeing your shoes off and letting the warm air embrace you entirely. This house — your home — has always had the best heating. There have always been fond memories of you laying on the floor by the vents just to revel in its comforting waves of heat. And without fail your mother would shoo you away, griping about your hair catching on fire (a lie, but if got you to move nonetheless).

Such simple memories make the corners of your lips twitch despite the heaviness you feel. Somehow they’re always the ones you fall back unto when you think about your hopeless soulmate life.

“Hey,” your mom greets, poking her head around the corner, “do you think you can help me bring these dishes over to the neighbors? I think they just got settled in.”

You furrow your brows. “Why?” Has something happened?

“‘Why?’” Your mom’s face mirrors yours. “The Iwaizumi family moves back here again after years and you’re asking me why I want to bring them something nice to eat?”

The gears begin turning and pieces click into place, a functioning machine somewhere in your skull putting things together. It’s not often that your mom goes out of her way for the neighbors, but this makes sense. They’re old neighbors that moved away while you were still young. And while you don’t remember much besides laying on the floor with their only son, you do still remember how much your mom would spend time with his.

The two were always inseparable, almost seeming to force the two of you together as well. Of course, fate would have it that you all meet again.

“Hurry up and put your shoes back on,” she ushers, and you can feel the excitement rolling off of her when she passes you a couple of bowls. They’re warm, and you recognize the aromas like you recognize your own name. Ginger and pepper mixing with garlic all in a hot broth that you remember Hajime used to cleanly polish off as kids.

Your shoes are slid on in a hurry and you follow after your mother, going the opposite direction of where you remember his old house being. Somehow it still feels nostalgic. You feel the clock rewind and take you back to the days you would run to his front door and knock for him. You feel the disappointment when sundown would pass and he’d have to go home.

Tears. You feel the telltale sign of emotions brewing behind your Adam’s apple threatening to make you choke on words. It doesn’t matter how young you were when you knew him, you somehow inexplicably missed Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Oh my god, it’s so nice to see you again!”

“You look so young!”

“So do you!”

“And your hair! I love the color.”

Childishly, you tune the two women out, peering around Mrs. Iwaizumi’s shoulder like you used to do. It seems you aren’t the only one reliving such a memory, for you lock eyes with the first person you were hoping to see.

 _No sparks. But what was I expecting?_ You offer him a tightlipped smile from your own foolish hopes, but you can’t push away the rhythmic beating of your heart, ticking and ticking at a faster rate than you’re used to.

Mrs. Iwaizumi and your mom go inside with you in tow, but they leave you and Hajime in the hall. The warmth you two share is undoubtedly familiar, reminiscent of smiles and stories only a childhood friend would have. I _t’s nice to see him again._

“Nice to see you too,” he scoffs, amusement bringing his lips into a smirk. “What kind of greeting is that?”

The rising temperature creeps into your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” you tell him. “But since it’s out there, don’t let it get to your head.”

“Why would I let it get to my head?” Hajime narrows his eyes. “Did you bump your head since I last saw you?”

 _Good to know his teasing is intact._ “Maybe. Why? I’m not gonna let you play doctor on me anymore.”

It’s now that _he_ flushes with wintry red on his cheeks and the tips of his ears, the memory burning straight through him. Not just because it was a silly, childish game, but because he always… _always_ remembers how embarrassing it was. Truly, it’s something that only a childhood friend would take to their grave.

“I’m not talking about it.”

 _Ah, got him._ You grin. “Why? Not gonna kiss my booboo better?”

His cheeks grow in their vibrancy and his jaw ticks with words he bites back. The hallway feels much stuffier now. “I’m _not_ doing that.”

“Of course,” you lie, “I’d rather you not get your dirt-eating lips near me again. I have standards now, you know.”

Hajime starts laughing. It’s airy and reminds you of asters and windmills, a delicate laugh that knows more than you can imagine because, while you can’t see the wind, you know it’s always there. Hajime, no matter what you say, knows a lot about you. He knows you’re joking despite how long it’s been. He knows he can tease you without worrying about actually hurting you. As your childhood friend, he _knows you_. Better than anyone.

 _So maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask_ …

“What does your Clock look like?”

His smile still lingers when your question lands, and it remains even when his eyebrows meet. “Like yours, why?”

Your wrist throbs and you roll your eyes at him and the sting of pain. “Ok, duh, I know they all look sorta the same. I mean like, in detail.”

Hajime persists. “Literally, it looks like yours. Always has, always will.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, turning it so the inside is facing up. And when he lets go to turn his over, the throbbing stops. There’s no spark, and certainly no ticking, but the tranquility of snowy winds and the silent seconds passing by fills you to the brim. It’s nearly inexplicable, and maybe your own naiveté is to blame, but all you can feel are the gears turning. The parts were already in place, it was just a matter of finding a catalyst.

With your wrists side by side, the quadruple zeroes are doubled, but they seem to tick to life when they’re with one another, a bold 1 now replacing one of the zeroes on each of your wrists. _I’m dreaming_ , but even as you blink and blink, you notice the colon blinking right back.

“Wait…”

“Don’t tell me… you _forgot_?” Hajime’s eyes bore into your forehead, your own face cast down in complete awe as you stare at your matching wrists. “You really did.”

“Well, yeah! That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve known you this whole time, so why wouldn’t it be more obvious that we’re… we’re soulmates?” You’re slow to peer up at him, almost fearing what you might see now that you can see the truth. But the last thing you were expecting from him was his own eyes nearly laced with worry. It’s hard to not wonder what he must be thinking, but you don’t want to think about something bitter in this moment of revelation. Not in the moment when your life finally seems to start.

“Do you think you’d remember feeling sparks when you’re a baby?” he deadpans.

“W-what?”

“…”

“Are… Are you a cradle robber?”

“Why do you make it sound like I’m 50 years older than you!?” His face twists up in embarrassment. “We were both way too young to remember something like that, jeez. Quit being weird.”

“But this is _weird_ ,” you stress, waving your wrist in his face.

“Is it?” Hajime stops your gesticulations, his hand wrapped around your fist and your wrists facing each other. “Is it weird for the two of us to be soulmates compared to some cosmic force convincing my parents to move back here? Is being soulmates with your best childhood friend _weird_ , or are you just seriously that forgetful?”

You pout now, his scolding seeming to make you feel another flurry of emotions. Your wrist still pulses with each second blinking away in time with his — that’s already a lot to process. He’s gonna tease you for not remembering this detail when you don't exactly recall your breakfast this morning?

“Fine, I’ll agree so you won’t be mean anymore,” you grumble. “I’m sorry for forgetting…” _Not that it’s my fault in the first pl-_

“You have all the time in the world to make up for it,” he answers casually, pulling you alongside him as he heads toward the kitchen. “When the Clock stops again then I’ll know you’ve made up for it.”

You want to scoff, you really do, but you’re too caught up in the familiarity of your hand in his, the view of his broad shoulders new but reassuring. “And how do you know that it’s gonna stop again?” you ask to cover up the ticking of your heart.

“Because it counts down then stops when we’re apart.” He squeezes your hand like a brief pulse, a catalyst to the start of time. “So don’t count on it.”

**Author's Note:**

> [read more fics, talk to me, and show support on my tumblr.](https://writeiolite.tumblr.com)
> 
> [ ! ] if you want to use this fic in a reading video (like ASMR or smth), please dm/inbox me on tumblr or comment here and get my permission first


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